“Bring him.”
Marco nods.
Rinaldi arrives twelve minutes later. He’s sweating before he crosses the threshold, and not because of the temperature. Because he understands where he is. He stops three feet from the desk. Doesn’t sit. Doesn’t speak.
Good.
“You’ve been altering manifests,” I say.
His throat moves. “No?—”
I don’t raise my voice. I don’t interrupt. I simply look at him and wait.
The denial dissolves.
“Yes,” he says.
“Why.”
“A small adjustment?—”
“Why.”
He swallows. “Pressure,” he says. “From outside. They offered?—”
“Who.”
He hesitates. That’s his mistake. Marco steps forward. Not aggressively. Just enough to change the space.
Rinaldi flinches.
“They said it was approved,” he says quickly. “That it came from above.”
“From me?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“And you believed that?”
“I—”
“You altered shipments based on a conversation you couldn’t verify?”
“I thought?—”
“That is where you failed.”
Silence. Heavy. Complete.
“Who approached you?” I say.
He gives the name. I already know it. A competitor. Testing boundaries. Seeing where the system breaks.
“They wanted to see if we were watching,” Marco says.
“Yes,” I agree.
“And now?”
